


Colour Me

by Teleri



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Both these boys got issues (but theyre working on them), Caretaking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, First Time, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Loki (Marvel) Lives, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:33:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21552199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teleri/pseuds/Teleri
Summary: For the five years following the snap, Thor drinks himself into a stupor, barely living, barely breathing. Until Thanos re-emerges with a new army — and an imprisoned Loki —  in tow. With the battle won and his brother back, Thor begins to think that maybe, perhaps he can begin to live again. But with Loki traumatised and drained of magic, and Thor battling his own demons, can either brother remember what it is to feel alive?
Relationships: Loki & Thor (Marvel), Loki/Thor (Marvel)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 66
Collections: Thorki Big Bang 2019





	Colour Me

**Author's Note:**

> God writing this has been a journey and a half!
> 
> A huge thank you to my beta [Loxxlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loxxlay/pseuds/Loxxlay), you're a star!
> 
> Also please check out the amazing artwork by [risowator](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21546607). It's stunningly beautiful and oh my god you guys I love it so much *cries*. If the tags seem a bit dark for you, look at that artwork! That's where this slow build is heading guys, it's freaking amazing. 
> 
> Anyway, please buckle up and enjoy the ride! :)

“You should get some rest.”

Thor shook his head, his hand tightening its grasp on the crisp cotton sheets. Close enough to touch, close enough to know that it was all real, that this wasn't just going to disintegrate in front of his eyes. Just out of reach enough to be sure that he couldn’t do anymore damage. 

“When was the last time you slept?”

Thor didn't answer. It didn't matter when he last slept, ate, showered. He couldn’t even remember the last time he stepped foot outside this room. None of it mattered now. He had to be here — he needed to be.

His fingers twitched, aching to reach out. He didn't. “I’m not leaving.”

Valkyrie sighed and came to stand beside him. 

“I’m not saying leave, I’m saying rest. Look after yourself. Eat, get a drink. Get some sleep.”

Thor leaned back against the back of the chair. “All I do is sit here. Watching. Waiting. This is rest enough for me.”

The Valkyrie shoved a flimsy plastic cup at him, its contents slipping out over the side, spattering his already stained t-shirt. “Yeah, and it isn't healthy.”

Thor twisted his head to look at her, but couldn’t quite bring himself to glare. “And you would know?”

“More than you think,” she said quietly. “Look, I get it. It’s early days. You're scared. You’re worried that if you leave, something’s going to happen, for better or for worse. But what you’re doing to yourself here isn't helping. It isn't helping him, it isn't helping you.”

“I can’t,” Thor whispered, and found his voice wavering.

“If he wakes up-”

“When,” Thor corrected, and found himself having to swallow harshly around the word. The plastic cup in his hand crinkled under the pressure of his fingers.

“ _If_ ,” Valkyrie repeated, “he wakes up, what use are you to him like this?”

Thor shivered, and placed the cup of water on the side table. He looked at the sickly figure that lay immobile, barely breathing, under the sterile sheets. Too thin, too twisted, too broken.

He found himself wondering whether he’d really been of any use to Loki at all in their lives. How many times had he aimed to help, only to hurt? Some things were easily forgiven and forgotten — the time Thor had struck Loki so hard when sparring that he’d broken one of his ribs; when they were little and Thor had stolen his brother’s favourite blanket, just so Loki would have to come and sleep in his bed during the night; and then when Thor had driven off every one of Loki’s potential bed partners out of pure spite and jealousy. 

Other things were not so easily forgiven, and Thor swore for as long as he continued to live, that he would never forgive himself for not having opened his eyes sooner. Pride and arrogance had coloured his youth and made him blind to things he should have easily seen. It was impossible to pinpoint when he and Loki started to drift apart, but Thor was certain now, that if he had just held on a little tighter, if he had just reached across the growing distance between them, things would have been different. 

But he’d never been able to hold onto Loki. Loki was always too willing to slip from Thor's fingers, into the void, into the Kursed’s blade, into Thanos’s choking, fatal grip.

His presence had never changed anything. It hadn’t stopped Thanos’s attack. It hadn’t stopped Loki sacrificing himself. It hadn’t even stopped what came after. 

Thor listened to the beep of the heart monitor, watched the line rise and fall, crest and dip. He had committed the pattern to memory, he could recite its rhythm in his sleep. Sometimes, sometimes he did. When his head lolled onto the bed below, eyelids heavy and gaze bleary, he hummed it to himself. Those nights, he pretended that it was real, that the vibration he felt weren't caused by his own voice, but by a strong heart, beating just for him. 

But in the harsh artificial light, the truth was brutal, suffocating.

Five broken ribs. A collapsed lung. A broken arm. Multiple fracture lines on bones that weren’t currently broken. Head trauma with possible cognitive effects. Emaciation, bradycardia. 

Thor hadn’t been able to stop any of it, and he knew his presence here wouldn’t change anything either. It wouldn’t make Loki more likely to survive the night, it wouldn’t heal his broken bones faster. He was helpless, unable to do anything but watch. Just like on the Statesman. 

“Let me.” Valkyrie placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “You can stay, if you sleep on the couch. I’ll sit here.” She nudged his leg with her foot.

Thor dragged a hand down his face, eyes drifting to the hard, narrow sofa against the far wall. 

He sighed, defeated. “And if he wakes?”

“I will wake you,” Valkyrie promised, a guiding hand at Thor's elbow as he unsteadily got to his feet. She gently prodded him in the direction of the couch before sinking down into the armchair, head resting on one arm, legs swung over the other. Settled, she pulled out her phone and began tapping away. 

Thor dropped onto the couch, back aching in protest at finally being forced to straighten. The fake leather seats squeaked beneath his bulk, protesting as he tossed this way and that, unable to find a comfortable position. 

Thor huffed and ended up rolling onto his back, head pillowed on his arms. He closed his eyes and focused on bringing full breaths of air into his lungs. Bruce had said to him — the first night he’d stayed here, shaking, exhausted, lightning barely contained as it rippled across his skin — that deep breathing was supposed to be conducive to calm, and even to sleep. Across the room, Loki’s heart monitor beeped steadily. Thor breathed with it, seven in, eleven out — a lullaby just for him. 

* * *

Weeks passed without incident. Thor spent his days at Loki’s bedside, gingerly holding onto his fragile fingers. Slowly, surely, Loki began to heal. He was taken off the ventilator, strong enough to breathe on his own. He was given medicine less frequently, the line linked up to his hand, less often filled with chemicals that numbed his pain and more so with the fluids he needed to survive. With each passing day, Thor became more and more sure that Loki’s body would soon be strong enough to withstand consciousness, that any day now, he would wake.

Daytime was manageable, kind to Thor’s sleep-deprived and anxiety-riddled brain. It was easy to believe the best, to remain optimistic when sunlight filtered in through the shuttered window, casting everything in a warm comforting light. In the day, Thor was content enough to pass the hours watching as each breath entered, and eventually left his brother’s breast. 

But Thor's nights were sleepless. The darkness of night blanketed everything in a blackness so deep, that Thor could have sworn it was laying atop him, smothering him, suffocating him, and if he could feel its presence, could struggle to draw breath in it, then surely Loki struggled too. Each night Thor waited with bated breath, for the machinery that had become his comfort to stop beeping, for people to come rushing in only to be too late. Each night he feared that the darkness would somehow snatch Loki away, and so each night, Thor had taken to wrapping a hand around Loki's wrist, where he could feel his brother’s pulse thumping weakly against his fingertips. 

It was a night like this, with his forehead resting against Loki’s leg, weary and dogged by sleep, that Thor was brought out of the depths of his exhaustion by a noise. Lifting his head Thor watched as the heart rate monitor picked up in speed, the crests and dips coming more often. To his left, the rustle of sheets. The unmistakable sound of a whimper. 

Heart pounding frantically against his rib cage, Thor sat up, hand held tight around Loki's wrist. The tendons under his fingers flickered, pressing up against his fingertips. It was the first sign of consciousness Loki had ever given, and Thor's heart leaped at the thought that at any moment, he might possibly be able to see the green of his brothers eyes. The sight that had followed him and haunted him through the past five years.

In the low light, Thor struggled to see as Loki began to stir. Feeling in a blind panic, he switched the bedside lamp on, flinching at the sudden onslaught of light. But it was worth it as in front of him Loki's mouth strained into a frown, his forehead furrowing as he turned his face away from the light.

Thor caught himself laughing breathlessly, his hand reaching out of its own accord to smooth away the hair that clung to Loki’s forehead. Loki whimpered at the touch, leaning into it as his eyes flickered open into narrow slits.

“Amma?” he whispered.

Thor's heart clenched as his eyes flooded with tears. Of course. Of course Loki would see the person whom he missed most, the one person who had given him comfort when none else would. Of course he would picture their mother when he was sick. When they were children, Frigga had always been the one to sit at his bedside when he was sickly, tending to his every need, offering soothing touches and gentle words. Of course Loki would yearn for their mother. 

But Thor did not possess a gift for soothing, for comforting. That had always been their mothers, and even Loki’s gift, much as he denied it. And here Thor was, the only blood Loki had left, useless.

He made his best attempt at a calming ‘shh’ noise, the kind he remembered their mother making when Loki would wake fearful from nightmares. He stroked Loki’s hair back once more, lingering as much as he could, till Loki's eyes opened wider, focusing on Thor's face.

“Where is she?” he whispered, voice thick from disuse. “Who’re- why are you- why are you here?” he asked, panic beginning to bloom in his eyes. 

“I- I’m- It’s me,” Thor reached out, only for Loki to recoil. “It’s Thor.”

“No,” Loki whispered, eyes frantically darting between Thor’s one blue eye, the other brown. “You’re- you’re dead. He killed you.”

Thor opened his mouth to object, to insist that he was here, that he was as real and alive as Loki himself. 

Loki hiccuped, a noise caught between a laugh and a sob. “Made me watch.”

“Brother, I promise that whatever happened to you-”

“Not your brother, wraith.” Loki hissed, fingers twitching, contorting into shapes that resonated somewhere deep in Thor's chest.. “You are nothing more than a conjuration, by his hand or my mind, it hardly matters.”

“Loki, I’m not-”

“None of your poison,” Loki spit, words tumbling out of him without so much as a breath, “none of it. Do what you will. Cut out my heart, cleave me in two, sear your brand onto my skin but do not-” the heart monitor missed a beat, picking up in double time, “-do not try to tempt me with your words.”

Thor reached out, aching to brush away the tears that had gathered in his brothers eyes. 

“No,” Loki protested, fingers beginning to glow green. “You dare touch me and I will-”

“Brother,” Thor pleaded, hand hovering just shy of Loki’s face.

“You know I can’t.” Loki shook his head, tears trailing down his cheeks. “Please. I’ll do anything. I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Just, please, take him away.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Thor said firmly as he withdrew his hand and brought it to rest on Loki’s wrist. 

Loki lurched towards him in a flicker of green, crying out as Thor felt the smallest puff of magic roll off his skin. He collapsed back against the bed, shaking and slicked with sweat.

“My seidr…”

Thor shushed him, and this time when he reached out to stroke the tears away, Loki didn't flinch away. Instead his head lolled to the side, eyes flickering, caught between wakefulness and sleep.

“No more, please,” he whimpered, his body ceasing to tremble as he stuttered little breaths against Thor’s wrist. Thor counted every one of them. 

“You’re safe,” Thor soothed as Loki drifted back into the depths of sleep. “I have you.”

* * *

Two months went by, filled with rigorous tests and endless paperwork, with physical therapy and psychiatric evaluations. 

Loki, for his part, tried his hardest not to get involved with any of it, he remained withdrawn and absent. He tired easily, and still spent most hours of the day sleeping. But when Thor visited, his eyes followed Thor round the room, hungry in a way that Thor could not describe, as though, if he looked away, Thor might cease to exist. 

He didn't speak, and if it wasn't for that fact that nightmares plagued him during his sleep, Thor would wonder whether his brother had any voice at all. But Thor knew intimately, all too well, that Loki’s voice was piercing, bone-shivering, horrifying, when he dreamed. Thor could not think — didn't let himself linger on — what would cause someone to emit such a noise, and decided that for now, he didn't need to know. 

The day the doctors said that Loki could be discharged, the sky cleared of clouds, and the sun graced those beneath with its warmth.

Thor spent the morning pacing back and forth across his brothers room. Counting Loki’s breaths, the ticking of the clock, the thumping of his own heart.

Each passing second felt like an eternity, and Thor’s mind began to wander, cycling through various scenarios, each tending to be more dire than the last. He couldn't predict how Loki would react. Would he understand what home was? Would he want to come home at all?

It was noon when Loki finally woke, coming round slowly and peacefully, a change to the normal gasping and frantic clawing at sheets that Thor was so used to seeing. He mumbled something incoherent, whimpering as he turned over, squeezing his eyes shut against the harsh artificial ceiling lights. 

Thor brought the chair closer to his bedside, careful not to scrape it across the tiled floor. 

Loki's eyes focused on him nearly immediately, watching, waiting for him to make the first move. 

Thor cleared his throat as he clasped his hands. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Loki said, and rolled onto his back. 

“Do you want some water? Or, or food?” Thor reached for the jug next to Loki's bedside.

“No, thank you.” Loki stopped him with a stern look, before turning his face away to stare at the ceiling again.

“So, the uh-” Thor picked at the gloves covering his hands, “the doctors say you’re doing well.”

Loki remained dull but Thor could hear him swallow. “Do they?”

“Yeah. They think, well, they said that you could co-” Thor cut himself off, watching the way Loki shifted. “They say you can be discharged.”

Loki remained silent, and Thor wondered whether he’d heard him at all.

“That’s good, right?” Thor asked.

Loki looked down at the white band around his wrist, tracing over one specific word in block print letters: 

JÖTUNN

Loki’s fingernail scratched across the word, denting the wristband and smearing the ink. Illegible enough that anyone who hadn’t known what it said before, wouldn’t be able to know now.

“Is it?” he whispered.

“Of course it is.” Thor smiled and reached across to rest his hand atop Loki's wrist, covering the bracelet. Loki flinched, and Thor lightened the pressure, just there, barely touching. “Of course it is,” he repeated. “You can come home. _We_ can go home.”

Loki remained quiet for a time, and Thor began to fidget in his chair.

“Where is home?” Loki asked quietly, a longing in his voice that made Thor's heart ache.

“Norway,” Thor answered.

Loki nodded as if that made sense, before swallowing and asking in a whisper, “how many?”

Thor didn't know the answer to that. He had long stopped taking an interest in their people. Trading his role as king for that of a hermit, drinking himself into the ground. The last time he’d checked, four years ago, they were a mere two hundred. Now, Thor had no idea. People had passed away, children had been born, some Asgardians had chosen to leave Norway behind, moving to other realms where they had extended family. Some, alone with no ties left to Asgard, had simply vanished. All that was left of them were their names on a hastily made record. 

“A couple of hundred.” 

Loki nodded again, his exhale shaky as he removed himself from Thor's grip. Thor waited for him to say something, to remark on how small and diminished they had become, how mightily Asgard — and Thor — had fallen. He said nothing, eyes glazed over, his mind somewhere far away.

“I need a few days to finalise some things, to get the house set up for you, but as soon as I’m done, we can go.”

“Go?” Loki echoed.

“Home.”

“Norway,” Loki corrected, his voice dull.

“Home,” Thor repeated. “I’m taking you home.”


End file.
